Remnants of A Shattered Mind
by J. Moonwood
Summary: This story is a continuation from the Mass Effect 3 destroy ending with the extended cut. Shepard doesn't die with this choice and the state of the galaxy is left in chaos as a great deal of the existing technology is rendered nonfunctional. This tale abides by canon and doesn't break lore. I do not own any of this, all content, rights, and licenses belong solely to BioWare. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Part I: A New Future, For All of Us**

John Shepard could barely stand. Every bone in his body ached with the pain of breaking. It was all he could do just to keep his tired head held up and his eyes on the ghostly apparition before him. Darkness saturated the corners of his vision, and the floor tugged at his body trying to drag him down into oblivion.

"You have altered the variables," the childlike apparition said. His voice was so familiar, so much like the child John had tried to save on Earth during the Reapers' initial siege. However, there were other voices mixed with his and the cold language of this being betrayed the image of the scared boy that Shepard had seen on Earth.

"So what does that mean?" Shepard sputtered as blood filled his mouth. Blood trickled down the side of his face from the gash where the reaper beam had slammed him against some shrapnel at the gate to the Citadel.

"We must find a new solution." The phantom turned from the weary soldier and paced a few steps along the platform towards the Crucible's center. Beleaguered and exhausted, the commander limped weakly to keep up with the child. "It is now in your power to destroy us. But be warned, others will be harmed as well. All synthetic life will be destroyed. Even you, who is partly synthetic, will not come away unscathed." The catalyst pointed to the Crucible's energy reactors to his right. Shepard envisioned Anderson going for the reactors, unloading his weapon until they burst in destruction.

"Or, like your Illusive Man attempted, you can seize the energy of the Crucible to control us. Your body will cease to exist, but you will assert dominance over the reapers, and they will be at your command," as he explained this, the specter pointed to Shepard's left, where a pair of electrical pylons stormed with electrical energy lancing out in every direction. Shepard pictured the Illusive Man trying to grasp the handholds on those pylons, paying the price for control as the surrounding electricity swarmed over his body.

"So the Illusive Man was right after all," Shepard stated with shock.

"Yes," the boy replied, "but he could never have taken control, because _we_ already controlled him.

"But I can," Shepard remarked.

"You will die but you will control the Reapers. Your body will be disintegrated, but your thoughts and even your memories will continue. You will no longer be organic; your connection to your kind will be lost, though you will still exist as a disembodied consciousness." Shepard mulled over the choices the catalyst was giving him. "There is also another option," The boy continued, "Synthesis."

Shepard raised his eyebrows wearily. "And that is?"

"Add your energy to the Crucible's. The chain reaction will combine all organic and synthetic life into a new structure, a new DNA," he explained.

"How can my energy be added to the Crucible?" Shepard's gaze drifted across the monolithic construction before him.

"Your organic energy, the essence of _who _and _what_ you are, will be broken down and dispersed. The energy of the Crucible, combined with your essence, will rewrite the fabric of all organic life in the galaxy. Organics and synthetics will finally have an understanding of each other and be perfected, and live in harmony," The child went on "synthesis is the final evolution of all life, and is eventually inevitable. The paths lie before you, you must act." The possibilities swam through Shepard's mind. Images of reapers on every planet throughout the galaxy collapsing and falling inert rushed through his thoughts. He swooned with the effort of imagining all of the horrors and chaos brought on by the reapers coming to a resounding end with their destruction.

"Let's get this over with," he spat.

"Do what you must," replied the ghost.

John Shepard looked across the Crucible to the energy reactors powering the entire station, the destruction of which would wipe the reapers off of the face of the galaxy. He began to limp along the causeway toward the tanks never looking down, never letting his eyes off that symbol of finality.

As he sauntered painfully forward he thought of Liara, his beloved. Her supportive smile in his mind greeted him warmly. Her memory caused emotions to well up in Shepard as tears began to stain his cheeks; regret of what could have been choked him as he came closer to his goal. Garrus, his best friend, rested an elbow on the stock of his favorite rifle, cocked his head and whispered to Shepard, "You're the best damn soldier I've ever met, even if I'm the better marksman. I've got your back Shepard."

The memories of his fallen comrades rushed into his mind's eye: Thane smiling at him and praying for his soul's salvation; Mordin, happily riding the elevator up the spire on Tuchanka to his doom; Kaidan bracing himself up against the drive-core bomb on Virmire and gunning down geth until the world went white; Cortez ramming his shuttle into the harvester that would have ended Shepard and his team, giving up his life in the process; Anderson, the closest thing to a father that Shepard had had since his parents were killed, saying the words that he would treasure forever in his heart: "You did good son… I'm proud of you." He had just barely made out the words as Anderson bowed his head and passed on into darkness.

Shepard's heart crumbled as he relived the deaths of his closest loved ones. He couldn't stop the tears from pouring out of his eyes, but he could use the strength his friends had lent him to finish his mission. He stood up a little straighter, doubled his pace and pushed with all his might toward the end of all the suffering.

Crossing over the catwalk that had risen into place to allow access to the Crucible's energy reactors, Shepard raised his gun with a grunt of pain. Pointing his weapon at the plate-glass casing of the energy tanks, a snarl grew across his lips. He didn't need to aim; his target was all he could see. He squeezed the trigger, a crack appeared in the glass, he fired again, and another split marred the covering, anger welled through his body as he pulled the trigger over and over.

He burned with the righteous anger of an entire galaxy made to suffer at the hands of the reapers. He kept walking closer; the glass was close to shattering. Another squeeze: a depressurizing surge of gas from the tanks. Yet another shot rang out accompanied by a belch of flame and bursting glass from the reactors. Gouts of fire erupted around him as he walked right up to the reactors, close enough to reach out and touch them with his hand; he lowered his head, but not his gaze, and emptied the rest of the chamber from his hand cannon into the breaching energy reactors.

A flash stole his vision and he couldn't feel solid ground under his feet anymore. Rocking explosions flung Shepard's weak body away like a rag doll. Something slammed against the back of his skull, and he knew no more. The compounding detonations from the damaged reactors built until they shook the entire Crucible and the energy beam flowing through the oculus of the combined Citadel and Crucible burned from a passive blue to an angry blood red. Arcing bolts of energy leapt out of the focused beam and licked the entire structure like fiery strands of spider web.

An orb of red swelled and grew from the Crucible until it consumed the Citadel and even Earth like a tidal wave of fire, everywhere it touched reapers fell and their minions were devoured by flame. As the red wave dissipated, the Citadel began to tear apart at the seams as it fired a brilliant crimson beam at the Sol Relay. Catching the rush of rampaging energy like a slingshot and firing it off into hyperspace, the Mass Relay shattered into pieces, but the beam raced through the galaxy to the next relay, sending out a shockwave of flame in that system, and again to its next destination, coating the entire galaxy in waves of torch red salvation.

Cheers and cries of victory went up throughout the galaxy on every world that had felt the Reaper invasion. But Shepard saw none of it; his world was dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II: Concrete Phoenix**

- November 8, 2186 _Three days later…_

Storm clouds rolled over the smoking ruins of once proud London. Its streets, crowded with debris and ash, were almost unnavigable. All around, fallen buildings created a chaotic maze of dead ends and impassable terrain. The skeletal remains of the city painted a portrait of cacophonic destruction to serve as the backdrop for the absolute despair that seemed to stagnate the air. There were no civilians, no refugees here; London had been culled, completely. The Resistance had put up their final fight in these desolate streets, led by the brave men and women who had bled their lives out here to stop the Reapers. For them, it was a welcomed death while paving the final bricks on the road to victory.

The clouds split open and rain fell like curtains across the ruined city, sweeping the dust and ash away but not the great pain that permeated the land. A cleansing rain though it was, a beautiful washing of the signs of conflict, the wounds felt by the people who lived, fought, and died there were unalleviated by the dismal downpour. Every street corner bore the scars of conflict, and each building told the tale of a makeshift bunker or rushed fortification overrun by Reaper minions. The emptiness of the battlefield was perhaps the most unsettling, as the Reapers had bolstered their numbers with each new corpse that fell against them.

Though rampant devastation lingered over its once recognizable neighborhoods and districts, the Alliance had wasted no time in dispatching search and rescue teams through London to comb the ruins for survivors, and help clear roads for reconstruction crews later on. Humanity would rebuild, and London would be first, as a symbol to the human race and the rest of the galaxy that everything the Reapers destroyed could be rebuilt. With determination to inspire others, humanity would prove it. At first, the giant reaper ships were avoided for fear of indoctrination. However, after preliminary tests, many scientists had concluded that there was no longer a residual "presence" in the reaper constructs; most believed the source of this cessation of residual brainwashing was a result of the Crucible, and so it was deemed safe to search the areas around the mechanical behemoths without fear of indoctrination. In the coming months, restoration efforts would disassemble and remove the wreckage of all reaper ships remaining planet side.

One reconstruction and recovery crew, designated "ARRC 091" was tasked with the cleanup of the Citadel gate area, and in that murky rain, they toiled to rebuild their home. Two reaper ships had collapsed there, one of which was Harbinger itself, and the crew had their hands full just trying to clear a path for traversable roads. One of the engineers, a volunteer named Johnathan T. Rousseau, was cautiously sifting through the wreckage of a clock tower that had been vaporized down to the smoldering support structure. He had a hard time of trying to keep his balance on the slick wreckage in the pouring rain whilst digging through the debris for any signs of survivors before they brought in the wrecking trucks to demolish what was left. The volunteer crewmember had managed to scamper up a slippery slope of rubble some thirty feet high to stand at the remaining "top" of the tower's support pylons, attempting to get a better view of the area he was searching through.

His eyes went wide as he felt the perch beneath his feet give way and he began to tumble down the mound. Failing to grab onto any support and catch himself, Rousseau followed the rolling scrap and rubble down towards the cluttered street square. He managed to roll onto his stomach and slow himself down enough to find purchase on a piece of concrete jutting out of one of the lower floors of the tower. With a grunt of effort he ceased his downward descent and pulled himself up onto the small overhanging shelf still some fifteen feet above the street.

With a sincere sigh of relief, he glanced around to survey his surroundings. A couple of his crewmembers on the ground called up to him when they took notice of his fall, "Hey rookie, you alright?" one called up to him. Matthews, if Rousseau recalled correctly. Fresh off the boat from volunteering at a refugee camp in Rouen, Johnathan still hadn't had time to learn the names of many of his crewmates. It didn't help that his division was comprised of over forty members, one of the bigger ARRC crews.

"Yeah, I'm alright. I lost my footing on the weather paneling up there!" Johnathan rested his hands on his knees and caught his breath. Matthews waved a hand of relieved dismissal and returned to moving the rubble out of the street. Satisfied that his moment of peril was over, Rousseau turned and began to inspect the opened floor of the clock tower he had managed to fall onto. He noted it must've served as an office of sorts, for there were signs of what once must have been desks and shelves serving as work space for a company of some sorts, even a cracked computer screen lay on the floor resting on its side. Johnathan carefully picked his way through the wreckage of several crumbling floors.

As he wound through the mess of cave-ins and debris, he passed two large staff areas filled with cubicles. Around the corner, there seemed to be painful reminders of how normal things used to be: shattered bits of a gag coffee mug, a filing cabinet filled with documents, a small framed picture of a man kneeling next to two small girls in party hats. Johnathan tried to imagine life going back to the way it was before the Reapers, and couldn't even fathom it. After navigating the maze of compartments, he came to the other side of the floor where the wall used to be. It had been knocked out when a shuttle or fighter, or maybe one of those harvester things had crashed into it, or at least it seemed like a good guess. The smell of dust surrounded him and a bitter loneliness permeating his senses. Everything here felt so… broken.

He glanced to his right as he heard some rubble shift and put a hand to his gun, ready. However, what he saw made him freeze and then gasp with a look of surprise. There, in a heap of soot-covered debris laid an exposed chest plate of black neocarbon-fiber. On it sat a pair of dog tags with the Alliance "A" symbol.

Rousseau started when the charred armor heaved upward, as the man inside inhaled sharply. The volunteer rushed over to the brick heap and looked at the face staring haggardly not so much at, but past him. "Are you alright? I'm going to get you out of here," He said matter-of-factly. The buried soldier's eyes never met his, and his pupils were dilated. Johnathan looked him over briefly and noted the soldier's body below the waist was trapped under a slab of concrete too heavy for him to lift alone. "I need help to move this chunk of stone; I swear to God I'll be right back!" He nodded energetically as if to accentuate his point. He sprinted back through the dilapidated offices to return to the balcony overlooking his crew's operating site. "Hey! I've got a survivor! I need some help, hurry!"

A cluster of men rushed up the drenched debris to get to their crewmate. The possibility of a survivor brought the fire of hope to the crew's eyes. If they could save one person from this hell, then they knew they could find more.

As the ARRC crew was in an uproar with toting lifting equipment and rescue supplies up the wet rubble, the buried soldier's labored breathing flipped his dog tags over the side of his chest plate, showing the "N 7" engraving on the other side. Briefly, the soldier was able to focus and see several figures rushing towards him, cradling his body while they wedged industrial jacks into the concrete to free him. Then his world was dark again.


End file.
